Long Stalks Poems
Long Stalks Poems. Below are the most popular long Stalks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stalks poems by poem length and keyword.
I glide along
Black river
In that hour
Before the morning dawn
To meander
The maze
And gaze
Upon
Stumbling walks
Silent
Long grass stalks
A vision
Two universe
That merge
And swell
Yet
Continue on
Disrupted
As this
Is how it is
Here
In this city
Between
Desert
And sea
I find
Myself
Out
On the East Arm
Enjoying
Kaleidoscope
Reflections
Of city
And industry lights
On a
Blue Gray sea
Tis here
That dwell
Dragon Lady
Come Hell
And high sea
Strikes fear
Into sailor
And wharfies
That happen to be
Cut you
In two
With a glance
As Talons sink in
Wounded chest
Of masculine
But stupidity
Is his
I look down
At the outgoing tide
And realize
That arrow
Had fallen
Fell away
Like a
Hand let go
Set
Free
Every movement—
A tick—
A wrinkle—
Tears a new one in a heart that
Beats to heal
And how I feel
I feel others there
They want a piece of it
They want to see how it heals
So they can break it again
To own what I am
To own what I think
What I love
It is
A lion's gaze into an endless abyss
As fears resurface,
Desire devours
We pray for safety
But we beg for danger to be rid
Of the monotonous pain
We laugh till life calls to arms
Our suffering game
Why can't tears be for the brave?
Why can't hands hold the lonely?
Blooming the bruised damages
Why can't fear fuel the helpless?
Why can't hate succumb to acceptance?
I am never alone
But I am a slave
To the storms of sadness—
Hope is so easy—
Hope is so easy!
But what if reality can't live up?
What if I don't live up?
Will the gaze be up to the heavens
While I crumbled with the worms?
Will I look into your eyes one day
And see that the love once there has fled?
And will I spend the rest of my days
Chasing the clouds of your affection
Only to face thorny dead ends?
—We are monsters of possibility—
From the stalks of our successes
To the roots of our futility
April 27, 2018
The new season did just start at last
slowly crept shedding its past outer
winter integument. Displaying
proudly attracting meticulous
attention with its graceful stylish
semblance. Scent of delicious greener
with elegant chromaticity,
art gallery of nature's sailcloth.
A wheelbarrow, pruning shears, shovel
and hoe parked in the backyard near a
blooming fuchsia bougainvillea
needing a trim. It frames a bedroom
window drawing attention as it
stalks up the red concrete brick tangled
with a lolled white sweet-scented jasmine
vine as it scans the highest rooftop.
A flicker of movement behind the
spiky thorns and fuchsia blooms a green
lizard scampered up the wall and vanished.
3/26/2019
Poetry Contest: Bougainvillea
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
We raised our sights in the autumn season,
brilliant and vivacious shades, full of life.
Vivid crimson, scarlet, rust, and yellow rife,
The maple trees in the grove praised the region.
Getting a clear grasp of the near atmosphere,
hear the stones beneath our feet squish and shift.
Consider the dust piles that our shoes drift,
Feel the brisk breeze tickling our hair, yet each spear.
The autumn leaves on the trees had fallen,
During the seasons, I am lured by the radiant sight.
The harvest was plentiful, a summer delight,
Pumpkins, squash, and yams were then sullen.
Birds expecting winter fly over a deep blue sky,
For the rest of the fall, the butterfly urges you to stay.
Bonfires and ethereal smoke swamped the air
and piney fragrance with a dash of seasonal flair.
Pause, sight, the river flanked by a large stone,
toward green and withering vetch stalks.
Stay close to increasing beating whacks,
Azure Creek has a gentle, placid tone.
Squirrels brace for fall by saving nuts and seeds,
They relish crisp fall days but dread winters.
and spread an abundance of lusty splinters.
Come jog with me, which allows clean air to renew yields.
2nd Place Contest Winner
Written: December 09, 2022
Still-Life Autumn Scene Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
When two bodies merged
with the miracle of the breath of life, a brand new flesh being began to grow
in the fertile soil of my womb.
Never had I felt closer to Mother Earth
and the Creator.
I was as the field of wildflowers,
the fresh green gardens,
the reaching stalks of corn and wheat, nourished by the Mother and Father,
just as my child was being sustained,
gaining strength and vitality from my body.
What a miraculous event…
when ripened flesh gives way
to the gush and flow
of the river of life!
One gains the knowledge and meaning
of pain and joy…in equal measure.
It is a tearing,
a body turning inside out,
revealing the wet, pink of fleshy organs,
the stark white and splinter of bones.
Your very heart
walking around outside of your body…
…soft, pulsing, vulnerable…
wide open to the elements.
Feeling every cool Summer breeze
and bite of Autumn wind.
Every drop of kind Spring rain
and terror of the Winter freeze.
Every sweet caress
and degrading slap.
Oh lovely burden!
Oh heartbreaking love!
The best-worst thing that ever
happened to me…
…The enigmatic conflict that is
parenthood.
To anyone who is different... Remember the blessing in disguise. You are able to know much through your spiritual sight.
I am different
By Michelle Morris
27/06/2023
I am different
And that's okay
I am different
And that's just fine
I can be a glitter ball
And spin round and round
Sparkle and shine
And highlight the dance
I can be the wallflower
Quiet and pretty and still
I'll have conversations with you in my head
And we'd have a great time
All on my own
Or with good friends
Kindly strangers
Or nature's blessings
Yes, I talk to trees
And birds and bees
I talk to flowers
And stalks and seeds
I talk to all animals
Big and small
I love their enthusiasm
Their acceptance, their joy
For being different
Is a blessing in disguise
It brings you closer to nature
To the life you see beyond sight
I am different
And that's okay
I am different
And that's just fine
Because what you don't realise
What you may never know
Is that you tell me everything
When I talk to your soul
I see past your countenance
Your smile real or fake
I see past your ego
Your words and your mates
I see what you can't
I know what you deny
Please don't hate me
For knowing you better than your lies
I stand on the outside
It truly suits me that way
I am not swayed by your airs
Or your graces or your name
I stand for what's good
I stand up for what's right
But I will never stand there
And believe that day is ever night
All the media and the mayhem
All the devious deceit and inequality
It's all laid bare by my gaze
For I am a powerful oracle
I may be ever so humble
I may be disarmingly sweet
I may be clumsy and stumble
But that's just my earthbound feet
If you ever become wiser
Perhaps enlightened from your noise
You may see my true visage
My wings and halo adorned
I am different
And that's okay
I am different
And that's just fine
In the Universe you can't see
I am flying free and high
In the Universe you can't comprehend
I am powerful and part of the Light
© Michelle Morris, 2023
In the heart of the jungle,
where trees whisper secrets to the wind,
the earth bleeds gold,
and with it,
dreams torn from the hands of the desperate.
Here, shadows move in silence,
not creatures of the night,
but lives unseen—
women with hollow eyes
that hold the weight of too many nights
and not enough mornings.
The air is thick, heavy with promises
whispered by men
whose hands reek of violence
and greed—
gold-streaked hands
that clutch at flesh
as if it were the earth they are mining.
Despair lingers in every corner,
in the broken smiles of the forgotten,
in the laughter that turns to sobs
in the small hours
when darkness swallows the stars whole.
Loneliness stalks like a predator,
its claws raking across fragile dreams,
its breath hot with the stench
of lives reduced to shadows,
of hopes smothered under the weight
of the unyielding soil.
Each day begins with the same question:
how much is a soul worth
when weighed against gold?
How much blood
for a fleeting glint
of sunlight in the dust?
Memories of home—
fields that once held
the promise of fruit and freedom—
haunt the edges of their minds,
replaced by barren landscapes,
by rivers poisoned
and hearts hardened.
And yet,
in the spaces between despair,
there is the faintest trace
of a song long forgotten,
a fragment of a dream
that refuses to be silenced.
But the jungle hums louder.
The machines roar.
The men shout.
And the women walk on,
their bodies bearing
the weight of the world’s greed,
their lives swallowed
by the glittering dust.
La wicked bruja hechicera,
with an impious hex--
deep within the marshlands-
'neath a foul--swampy grave,
shall indeed summon
Pumpkin Head.
Rage's what he wheels,
from those who seek revenge;
Restitution for the reckless end
of a love-one, who's been slain.
Her Abyss fiend, ghastly nights
of vengeance spreads.
'Tis best and wiser yet
to kneel in silent prayer.
Repent, for it's the only tool
the hunted have to soothe
the impinging gloom
of dark that looms.
For those he stalks
don't stand a chance;
The Reaper's minion
feeds his thirst
with bloody-blugent preys,
la hechicera dooms.
Sinners atone, confronting
their fate--with a wicker fort
made faith that rots;
For pleas and screams,
like wood ablaze-only excite
his callus, morbid heart.
Condemned souls
who bear the witch's mark.
Hell hound will dissecting hunt.
For the following dawn
are found only severed heads
with bods from limbs apart.
The midnight's chill which brings
little cold drops of dew,
on tips of leaves and stalks, each anew.
This was a mighty kingdom.
But now it looks quite sore;
for in here, a kingdom stands no more.
Her caring branches spread all over:
the Queen in her love and smartness
lay dead, struck by the blade of the heartless.
Her highness dead, her kingdom insecure...
collapsed on their feet, beneath that sneering smile.
Never had I seen any human so vile.
No time to weep, but not a tree left
other than me, standing in a barren wasteland.
Memory recalls...being defeated by human hands.
So now, you heard a tale from me,
which I said to you as your host.
A tale, a war which a kingdom lost.
*inspired by true events.
12/29/2018
Contest: as easy as ABB
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
I’m so much in love with a lass from above
It leaves such a knot in my gut
For it’s hard to kiss one’s favourite miss
When her tongue dangles out of her butt
Her eyes grow on stalks, which sway when she walks
And I really like licking her skin
I get naughty thoughts when I’m sucking her warts
For her sweat is effectively gin
Her big bulbous nose and her seventeen toes
All sprout from her one massive foot
And her head is quite bare save for one curly hair
While her teeth are the colour of soot
I know that her face is all over the place
With a most private place for an ear
But I can’t resist those moments of bliss
When she whispers my name from her rear
It might seem absurd but haven’t you heard
That there are no men up on Mars
So they come to Earth when they want to give birth
And chat up the men in our bars
But she can’t conceive with our human creed
So Martian girls self propagate
They just use us lot to get themselves hot
For there is no compatible mate
But now I’ve been shown her erogenous zone
You won’t find me getting all glum
There’s one naughty place on the side of her face
You should see what she has for a thumb.